


a long way forward

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: After the events of "Corkscrew" and learning the truth about The Phoenix Foundation, Bozer works through the idea that his best friend has been lying to him for years.(AKA the first time Mac is injured on a mission after Bozer learns he's a spy)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 90





	a long way forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eurus91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurus91/gifts).



> For Eurus91, who asked about the first time Bozer saw Mac injured on a mission 
> 
> I haven't written much from Bozer's POV so let me know what you think. And as always, thank you for reading!

A familiar riff blasts through the television, the ending credits of Bozer’s favorite show, startling him from his light doze on the couch. He flinches awake, blinking in surprise, the lamp on the table next to him illuminates the living room. 

Huffing in frustration that he slept through the conclusion, again, he lets his head drop back against the cushion. He’s had no problems falling asleep on the couch, turning his binge-watch into more of a nibble. 

He yawns, scrubbing a hand over his face. The moment he heads for bed though, he’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence of the house surrounding him. For the squeak of floorboard under the foot of an intruder. For the tinkle of broken glass smashed by a psychopath. 

He’s never had a problem, being home alone. Though Bozer is an extrovert in every sense of the word, thriving on social interaction, he still appreciates a quiet night at home. He just hasn’t been alone very much in the last few weeks. 

Mac’s been sticking close. When asked, he swears it’s not intentional. He’s not hanging around to keep an eye on Bozer, or as some sort of apology for turning his roommate’s life upside down. He’s not anxiously returning home early because he’s worried he’ll walk through the front door to find that his friend has moved out. 

But Bozer has always been able to read Mac like a book. Or so he’d thought. 

Craning his neck to see the clock, he scowls at the late hour. 

Mac hadn’t said how late he was going to be, just mumbled something about a work event. Bozer shouldn’t worry about him for dinner. 

A few weeks ago, Bozer wouldn’t have thought twice. Visions filling his head of Mac playing the role of the golden boy of the Think Tank. Called upon to schmooze at various galas and events, because not only brilliant, he has a charming, disarming smile that instantly makes you want to trust him. Not a deceitful bone in his body.

Bozer huffs. 

The idea of Mac, dragged from his precious lab and stuffed into a suit, while frantically scrubbing his latest explosion from his face in the elevator, already late to the gala, always made Bozer chuckle. For years he’s mentally cast Jack in less of a bodyguard role and more of a handler, making sure the genius didn’t forget his other obligations in the job. Combing Mac’s hair to lie flat and cover the freshly singed bits and reminding him that he couldn’t sneak off to the lab again because the party was “boring.” Standing at Mac's side, giving him something to ground him when he got nervous and his mouth took off a mile a minute as he Mac-splained his latest science experiments to wealthy backers with too much money to throw around. 

Mac knows what he’s talking about, he just somehow assumes that everyone he’s talking with is as brilliant as he is. Or assumes his own smarts are average, Bozer’s not sure which. 

If Bozer is honest, it was all a little bit Bruce Wayne in his head, at least that was how he’d write it if he ever created a script. Maybe he should have seen this coming. Jack was there to dissuade the cartoony super villains who wanted Mac’s gamma-ray project or his “Mac-mobile,” but Mac was never in any true danger.

But now, Bozer finds himself eyeing Mac suspiciously every morning across the breakfast table. Is he tucked away in his lab today, or chasing after terrorists? Is he working late because he’s got a chemical reaction he needs to watch, or is he disarming a bomb meant to take out a city?

He never thought Mac could lie to him. To anyone. Not that he often tried. As kids, the few times Mac had tried, usually an attempt to protect Bozer, guilt poured out of too blue eyes and Bozer thought not much had changed over the years. 

Bozer’s eyes narrow in dubiosity, wondering if Mac intentionally allowed himself to be caught in the occasional white lie. Reinforcing the idea that he couldn't lie, in some sort of double-bluff mind-game

The pop of gunfire fills the room. Bozer drops from the couch onto the floor, throwing his hands over his head, before realizing the next episode of his show began on autoplay and his living room isn’t being shot up by a psychopath wearing one of his Halloween masks.

Bozer swallows hard before rising from the floor on shaky legs, grateful that no one was around to witness his overreaction, but a small embittered part of him wishes Mac had been. That he could see how distressed Bozer still feels at the invasion of their inner sanctum. 

Dropping his blanket back on the couch, Bozer scoops up the remote, powering down the TV. He stands in the middle of the dim living room, feeling strangely lost. He didn’t usually wait up for Mac. Roommates and best friends but they still both had their own lives.

Maybe Mac more so than he thought. 

The curtains are pulled tight across the windows. Besides the deck, the windows are the feature of the house he likes the best. Or he did. Each room is filled with windows, allowing natural light and warmth. Even at night he rarely closed the curtain. Strands of lights hanging from the pergola on the deck and the light from the city kept the darkness from feeling imposing. He never felt exposed. Never worried about what might be out there, looking in. 

Now, the second the sun starts to dip, Bozer pulls the drapes against the encroaching darkness. Except, with the rooms shut up tightly, he can’t easily peek out the windows for what might be hiding in shadows. 

Bozer reaches over and snaps on another light. 

A rap against the front door and Bozer freezes. 

The racing heart he’d just gotten under control takes off again at a gallop. His eyes scan the room as a startling thought seizes his mind. He doesn’t remember if he locked the front door.

His breath comes in panicked huffs. 

Mac rarely locked the door and Bozer often followed suit. Jack growled in frustration, admonishing them that they no longer lived in Mission City and even if they did, small towns still had their share of crimes. 

Though, he now realizes Jack’s concerns weren’t about a burglar.

Another knock. 

He can hear Jack berating Mac for opening the front door without checking who was out there. Those same words were directed at Bozer that night until Mac shushed him. 

Bozer hefts the old wooden baseball bat they keep next to the fireplace. 

Maybe Jack’s lessons have started to take root. He’s not so trusting anymore. 

He creeps down the hall to the door. Adjusting his sweaty grip on the bat over his shoulder. He swallows hard. 

“Bozer! You okay?” Jack’s gruff voice comes through the door.

“Jack?” Bozer lowers the bat and unbolts the front door. 

Jack pushes inside cautiously, eyeing the bat in Bozer’s hand. “You okay, kid?” 

“Um, yeah,” Bozer leans the bat against the wall as Jack closes the door behind him.

“Sorry, I thought barging in this late might startle you. Guess I startled you anyway.”

Bozer thinks about denying it then shrugs. He doesn’t mind as much, Jack knowing that he’s still upset at the way he learned about Mac’s double life. It’s probably Jack’s fault anyway. “What are you doing here?”

Jack rubs the back of his head. “Mac, uh, asked me-”

“Oh, Mac sent you? Great,” Bozer rolls his eyes. “Thinks I can’t handle being home alone? Sent a babysitter.” 

“It’s not that.”

“He’s barely left me alone since he let a psychopath into the house,” Bozer's arms wave wide as his voice raises.

“Actually, I think you let him in,” Jack flinches even as the words come out of his mouth.

“Oh, right, sorry. I should have just assumed the guy ringing my doorbell was a serial killer.”

“It’s probably not a bad thing to assume,” Jack says with a small grimace. 

“Normal people don’t assume everyone is out to kill you.”

“Maybe more people shoul-”

“Maybe this job has warped your idea of what’s normal because normal people don’t have an archenemy. That’s not real life. That’s not something I thought I had to worry about. Definitely not something Mac should have to worry about.” 

Jack stands there, infuriatingly calm. 

“And you’re as bad as he is. You don’t trust me,” Bozer crosses his arms over his chest. Jack too, has spent most of his waking hours at the house the last few weeks. Arriving at the crack of dawn and hanging around until well after dark. Which wasn’t that unusual, but Bozer’s caught glimpses of him, skulking around in the shadows before he’d leave for the night, in what he assumed was a perimeter check.

And even that wasn’t so unusual. It’s something he’d seen Jack do a time or two over the years, always chalking it up to the career soldier being unable to completely leave that life behind. And as Mac’s security at the think tank, Bozer thought at best someone might try to break in and steal any work Mac brought home with him. Industrial espionage not just straight up espionage. 

“It’s not that Mac doesn’t trust you. He wanted to keep you safe from that side of his life.”

“By lying to me.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, his tone quiet and serious. “The same way that I lie to my momma. That I lied to Riley and her mom for years.”

“And how did that work out?” Bozer scoffs.

“Not well. I admit it, but at the time I thought it was the right choice. And when given the opportunity to fix it, I was honest with Riley, like Mac is trying to be honest with you,”

“Only because he got caught.”

“Yeah, maybe, but he’s trying to fix his mistake.”

“By sending babysitters when he can’t be here? Riley, Jill, you. Well, you can leave. I don’t need you hanging around,” Bozer crosses to the door, throwing it open.

“Bozer, Mac got hurt tonight-”

“What?” Bozer feels his heart drop at the words. His anger flees with any desire to keep fighting with his friends. 

“He’s fine,” Jack says, holding up a hand and then smirks when he hears the words. “I mean, he will be fine. Dumb kid tried to convince me that he was fine enough to just go home. Didn’t want to worry you.”

“He’s- he’s not distracted, is he? About me? About us fighting and everything?”

“He didn’t get hurt because he was distracted about your fight.”

Bozer leans heavily against the door. “What happened?”

“Guy pulled a knife and got lucky. Nicked him pretty good.”

Bozer nods, eyes wide.

“Hey,” Jack claps a hand on Bozer’s shoulder, ducking his head to look him in the eye. “It’s not your fault. Mac’s good. Very good, but sometimes shit happens.” Jack shakes his head, as if he’s trying to convince himself of the assurances he’s giving Bozer. 

“Yeah, then how come the first time he gets hurt is right after we had a fight,” Bozer sighs.

Jack grimaces. “Ah, yeah. Well, this uh, this is not the first time he’s been hurt.”

Bozer frowns. “I’d remember if he’d been stabbed before. Would have asked a few more questions.”

“Normally… well, I mean, before, this would have been one of those nights where Mac sends you a text saying that he’s got a couple chemical reactions going that he can’t leave so he’s going to camp out at the lab.”

“Oh,” Bozer’s voice is soft. “I got those texts a lot.”

“Some of them were legit,” Jack promises. “And the ones that weren’t didn’t necessarily mean he had to spend the night in medical. Sometimes there were injuries but other times there was blood on his clothes, not always his, that he didn’t want to explain so he’d crash at my place and do some laundry.”

“You had a whole system.”

“Yeah, but it was never about lying to you. Protecting you, yeah, always, but not because Mac thought you couldn’t handle it. It’s because you didn’t choose this life and Mac didn’t want to drag you into it if he could help it.” 

Bozer nods. “I guess.”

“And he’s trying. Wants to fix things. That’s why I’m here. He didn’t want this to be a phone call. Dumbass tried to convince the doc to let him come home and tell you himself,” Jack smiles affectionately. 

“He has to spend the night?”

“Well, yeah,” Jack says. “Listen, I told you he’s going to be fine. And he is, but when the knife nicked him, it kind of got his spleen too. Not bad, but spleens bleed, so they needed to close him up. Didn’t want him running around leaking everywhere.”

“Jack!”

“Then he tried to convince everyone that he could wait for surgery until I got back with you so he could tell you himself. Finally, compromised that as soon as they knocked him out and took him back I’d leave and go tell you myself.”

“Can I- am I allowed to go see him?”

“Yeah,” Jack pulls back the sleeve of his leather jacket, looking at Mac's watch that he's wearing for safe keeping. “It’s going to be a few hours yet before he’s out of recovery, if you want to wait. And he doesn’t do well with anesthesia. He’ll be pretty out of it until morning.”

Bozer frowns at the matter of fact way Jack talks about Mac and anesthesia. Like it’s something familiar. Something the average person knows about his friend. “I think I want to be there. And you can use the time to tell me about all these other injuries I missed.”

Despite promises for honesty, Bozer thinks Jack still held back some of the details about Mac’s on the job injuries. He can’t find it in himself to be upset. There’s a quiver in Jack’s voice as he speaks, reliving some of the worst days of his life and Bozer doesn’t push. Not when he sees the pain in Jack’s eyes. 

Any lingering anger that he feels dissipates as Mac is rolled into the hospital room. He's never seen his friend like this, looking small and pale in the hospital gown, oxygen tubing under his nose.

Bozer takes a step back in surprise, though he'd claim it was to stay out of the way as a nurse wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and clips a pulse ox probe to his finger, before lifting the sheets just enough to check the incision and the drain without exposing Mac. 

As soon as he’s efficiently settled by his care team, Jack steps forward, ruffling his hair lightly.

“Hey kiddo.”

Mac gives a loopy grin. “Jack,” his brow furrows. “Did you find Bozer? I gotta talk to him. You promised if I- if I had the s-s-s” Mac slurs, making an exaggerated motion with his dry mouth, “surgery, I could talk to him.” 

"I always keep my promise, hoss," Jack glances over his shoulder shooting Bozer a pointed look and a nod to step closer, giving up his spot next to Mac.

Bozer wipes nervous hands on his sweatpants, he didn’t even take the time to change back into regular clothes when Jack came for him. He clears his throat. “Hey, Mac.”

“Boze!” 

“How are you doing?”

“‘M fine.”

Jack snorts and rolls his eyes.

Mac scowls at him.

“Jack told me you got stabbed.”

“Nicked,” Mac corrects and it’s Bozer’s turn to roll his eyes. The two agents are sticking to their story. He doesn’t know if nicked actually sounds better than stabbed but he’ll let it slide. “Didn’t want to tell you like this.”

“Yeah, that’s what Jack said.”

“Tried to go tell you myself, but they wouldn’t let me,” Mac frowns. “Or wait for Jack to get you. Wanted to wait.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Bozer says. “You shouldn’t wait on surgery.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Mac says softly. “And that Murdoc shot at you. And that I didn’t tell you about my job. And that I made Jack and Riley lie to you.”

"Hey, I already told you, I’m not mad at you,” Bozer repeats the words he's promised before but tonight it feels more like the truth. 

“I don’t want to hide things from you. You’re my friend. Didn’t want to lie, just wanted you to be safe. Never wanted to hide things,” Mac’s eyes are damp in the dim light of the hospital room.

“I know,” Bozer nods. “Jack explained.”

“He did?” Mac perks up. “Jack’s a good friend. Always takes care of everyone.”

“Yeah, he does.” Bozer remembers the first time he heard about Mac’s new Overwatch. A grump, growling neanderthal, as Mac described him. Stubborn, and irritating, with the gall to try to save Mac’s life and Bozer felt indebted to the older soldier he’d never met, who tried to keep Mac safe, in spite of himself. Willingly risking his life for Mac’s. Bozer thought he’d never be more grateful to Jack than the day he heard Jack decided to stay in the desert. All these years later, Bozer feels a similar surge of gratitude that Jack is still watching Mac’s back. 

“He’s just like you.”

A laugh bursts forth from Bozer’s lips. “Okay, Mac, Jack and I are alike,” he turns to grin at Jack. “I think those drugs are still pretty strong.”

Jack steps forward, putting a gentle hand on Bozer’s shoulder, squeezing lightly at the juncture of his neck. Bozer looks up, expecting to find teasing laughter dancing in Jack’s eyes, or a mirthful smile playing on his lips at Mac’s nonsensical, drug-induced comparison, but Jack’s expression is softer than that. More serious. Affectionate, understanding. 

“Always looking out for people. Looking out for me,” Mac says softly. He taps his chest. “Always know what to say and what I need to hear.”

Bozer looks surprised at how easily the words of affirmation fall from Mac's lips. Glancing over his shoulder he asks, "is he always like this after surgery?"

"No, sometimes he gets all paranoid because he's been drugged. Tight-lipped and suspicious of everyone. He's been pretty worked up about this the last few weeks," Jack whispers. "Worried that he ruined things with you. That he put you in danger. I'm not surprised it's all spilling out now, since his defenses are down."

“Aw, Mac,” Bozer lays his hand on the cool skin of his friend’s arm. "In sixteen years, have I ever been able to stay mad at you?"

Mac hedges. "When I didn't tell you I joined the Army."

"Well, I didn't stay mad at you then either. And that- I wasn't really mad at you, I was scared. I didn't want anything to happen to you." Bozer gestures to their surroundings. "And this doesn't help. Promise you won't do this to me again?"

Mac nods seriously.

"Wish it was that easy to keep him out of trouble," Jack mutters before attracting Mac's bleary eyes. “Do you remember your other promise, kiddo?”

Mac looks up at Jack with a suspicious scowl.

“That if I went and got Bozer, you’d go to sleep after you talked with him.”

“I don’t remember that,” the sentence ends with a yawn, which Mac tries to smother. 

“‘Course not,” Jack smirks. “Well, trust me. You did.”

Mac sighs, tired eyes flipping between Bozer and Jack.

“I do trust you. Both of you. My best friends." Mac scowls, looking like he's going to try negating on his promise and resist the pull of sleep, the effects of anesthesia, but each blink is longer than the last and after a moment, his eyes slide closed and his chin bobs. He sighs in contentment, knowing his two best friends are watching over him.


End file.
